


On Silence and Confessions

by FrankieJohns



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chasing Amy - Freeform, Declarations Of Love, Dialogue Heavy, First Kiss, Kevin Smith - Freeform, M/M, Post-His Last Vow, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankieJohns/pseuds/FrankieJohns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That Chasing Amy speech made me write this. Because I love grand declarations of love between these two idiots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Silence and Confessions

It has been four days since Sherlock was supposed to leave London forever. He is standing at the window of 221B.  Though he really shouldn't. Mycroft would say that. If Moriarty is back then Sherlock is his main target and he has to be on guard. He is. But surely the dozen or more guards stationed all along Baker Street are enough to ensure his safety within the walls of his home. Or not. If they are truly dealing with the likes of Jim Moriarty or even someone of his ilk then nothing will stop him from finishing his story.

Sherlock sighs and closes the curtain. Walks away and picks up his violin so he can play. He sits and plucks a bland pizzicato. He needs sound. It's so silent lately. Silence seems to be surrounding and penetrating everything about him.  He wants tea. He nearly yells for Mrs. Hudson then remembers that she's away. Off with his mum and dad being protected and most likely discussing all the very wrong habits he holds. He looks up at his wall and it's a puzzle alright. One he's not even sure how  to start solving.  He stares at each piece of evidence over and over again. Something is there. Though he can't quite say.

 

He is still staring at the wall when there is a knock on the door.

 

 

 

  
"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock doesn't look away from the wall. He hears the man. But doesn't deem any of Mycroft's men worthy of his responses.

"There is a Doctor Watson being held outside. He'd like to see you."

"Thank you," Sherlock says and stands up. The guard leaves. Sherlock walks to the window and peers down. John is barely in view but he is there. Stood in his shooting jacket. This is the third time John has come to see him in the four days since Sherlock was escorted from the plane. He's also texted, emailed, and,one utterly illogical time,called Sherlock.  Sherlock isn't per se trying to avoid John, he just needs to focus. He can't. Not really. Not with John around. Not now. Hell not much before.

He sees John looking murderous. John wears a tight smile on his face. Sherlock is sure that many of his guards have no idea that John could kill them should he really wish to.

This thought makes Sherlock smile. He sees the guard who had just informed Sherlock of John's presence walk to John and shake his head twice. John nods his head once in return and turns on his heel to leave. That is the way its been for the past few days.

It's the best and worst part of Sherlock's day all wrapped up in a one five foot six doctor waking away.

Sherlock usually watches John walk completely out of view but today the sky is cloudy and its turned dark early. Rain is coming soon. He can't make out much so he turns away from the window just after John has taken three steps. He'll ignore that pain until later.

But back to the wall. Though he knows there is nothing there to explain how Jim Moriarty survived a shot to the head and why he came back just in time to...

_Knock, Knock._

Sherlock doesn't respond. He doesn't know why Mycroft's men haven't learned to simply come in and give their information quickly so he can promptly ignore it.

_Knock, knock_

"For God's sake," Sherlock says while strolling to the door. "You don't have to tell me when you're doing your very boring changing of the guard. Just-" He opens the door. "Go," He says. Though the last word barely ekes out of him as he's rendered  breathless by the sight of John Hamish Watson.

Up close he sees that John's hair is well styled and he has on the cologne that Sherlock both simultaneously loves and loathes. He loves it because it smells very good on John. Sherlock is well aware of pheromones and how they manipulate you but he doesn't care because the notes of the cologne mixed with John's own scent is a revelation. He hates it only for the reason that John usually wears it on dates. Ahh that must be it.

"Won't Mary be upset at your being late to date night?"

John is not impressed with his deduction. John is never impressed these days. It's the reason why Sherlock kept so much of his deductions to himself. John doesn't come in. Must be in a rush. Ahh must be planning to buy her flowers beforehand.

 

"As Mary is pregnant her nose may respond differently to certain aromas. So you may consider the beach rose for her instead of the normal oleander she prefers."

 

"That's what you say to me?"

 

Sherlock isn't sure why this isn't acceptable to say. So he remains silent. Silence is probably best these days. At the very least he can't be faulted for saying the wrong thing then.

"You've  been turning me away for three days. Like I'm just any... It doesn't matter. Are you not curious how I finally got past them?"

Oh.

"Laceration on your upper eye. Small. But obviously caused by a right hook. Tear on your shirt collar where one, no two of them tried to hold you. Scuff marks on your shoes. Ahh so that's how you did it. Forceful kick. Released. Impressive."

 

"Impressive? Is that all you have to say?"

Incredibly sexy. Sherlock thinks. Is that normal? To be even more attracted to someone for their ability to disarm and incapacitate highly trained men? He doesn't care if it's normal. That is what it is. But he can't say. 

"I'm," he tries out the next word in his mouth. "Sorry?" He's sure it's a phrase people usually utter when they're unsure of what to say next.

"Sorry?" John says and he's smiling. Sherlock knows what that means.

 

Part of him wants to move away. Part of him wants to move forward and take the hit head on. Because surely one is coming.

"I'm not sure...," Sherlock begins to say. Realizes that it's obvious he isn't sure and so he shuts his mouth again.

"Sherlock, I have come by here every day to see you. And finally I get fed up with Mycroft's lackeys. Fed up enough to commit what I am pretty sure is an act of treason and you just stand there." John finishes and he is breathing hard. He is furious. Sherlock is quite sure of it. "Well?" John says.

"I," Sherlock says and this is ridiculous. He knows it is but this is the way it has to be. He'll give John a decent excuse and send him on his way. "John, I can't do this right now." No. That's not what he meant to say. But it's fine. As long as he stays the course. Says nothing.

"Fine... fine," John says. It's not fine. Sherlock knows. But he can't really make it fine. He can try though.

"How is Mary?"

"Mary is fine. Never mind that.  Just...," John says and he sits in his chair. Runs his hands over the arms. Looks up at Sherlock's wall. "Walk us through it then."

"I've not actually gotten much further than the initial information you and the general public is aware of. It's a lot of thumb twiddling and listening to Mycroft give excuses about the ineptitude of his people." Better. This is better. Talk about the case. Give John a taste. Send him away.

"So if you're not doing anything then," John says. Clears his throat. Looks away. Clenches his fist.

"Then?" Sherlock prompts him. He doesn't know what John isn't saying. Not this time. Hates that he has to ask because then he isn't sure what his next move will be. Wait. Of course he does. Silence.

"Why am I being sent away, Sherlock?"

"You're not."

"God, how could," John stops himself. Stands up again. Breathes. Walks to the door.

Good. He'll leave. Angry but at least he'll leave.

"Everyday Sherlock. I show up here. Then one of those men with the broken bones out there walks in and has to be saying something to you. And then they come back and tell me you're not available. So if you're not busy then why am I being fucked off? Like it's...God like it's a few years ago and I'm being sent away only to come back to your dead body."

John doesn't have tears in his eyes. No. Not just tears. Tears and fury and unending hurt.

"I'm .... I apologize. It seemed the most prudent choice given the nature of everything."

"I see," John says and he nods his head to indicate how much he actually doesn't see.  "So I should just get going then..."

"Mary will be happy to see you. You look quite....nice for your date night." Sherlock tries for a smile. He is sure he is failing.

John walks toward the door. Hand on the knob. He starts to turn it then stops himself. He turns around and looks in Sherlock's direction but doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"Look you know...just...don't go up against him again without me there. I can help," John says. "I don't want to do that again.  Not for two years. Alright?"

"Alright," Sherlock says. At least he thinks he says it. A second later however John has opened the door and is gone. Sherlock walks to the window and looks outside as John strolls to the guards and checks them all over. He hears snippets of John saying "It's just a sprain" and "You'll want to get some ice on that."

 

Then he hears the thunder. And rain begins to pour down hard.  John walks across the street. Looks up at Sherlock in the window. Sherlock stares down. Then John flips his collar up, turns, and walks away.

Sherlock turns away from the window and looks at the flat. At John's empty chair. And though he can hear the rain pouring down, the entire world seems silent.

Silence.

_Oh fuck silence_ he thinks.

He is wearing his blue dressing gown and pyjamas and he doesn't care. He runs down the stairs. Past the now wet and injured guards and runs down the street. Turns the corner.

_Where is he?_  

John isn't anywhere. Sherlock is getting drenched. Definitely not the smartest choice of clothing to go chasing after someone in the rain. He squints his eyes and then finally sees John. He runs to him while screaming his name.

"John!"

John stops and turns around. Walks back briskly towards Sherlock.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing? You'll catch your death out here like this."

"Who cares."

"No, you're barely out of hospital and prison and god knows what. Get back inside."

"In a minute. I have something to tell you."

"It can wait."

"No it can't. Please John?"

"Fine. Hurry up. You're shaking already."

"I love you."

"You.. love me?"

"I love you. And not in a friendly way, although I think we're great friends. The best of friends.  I am truly honored to be your friend. But I love you. I've had time to think about it and dissect it and research it. Hours of research and discussion with a variety of reputable sources. I've confirmed. It is not misplaced affection, although I'm sure that's what you'll call it. And it's not because you're the only person I've called a friend. Very simply put, very truly. I love you, John Watson. You're the epitome of every attribute and quality I've ever looked for in another person. I know you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is the furthest thing from an option you'd ever consider. But I had to say it. I can't take this anymore. I can't stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can't look into your eyes without feeling that longing that I've always assumed didn't truly exist except in adolescents. I can't talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. I know this will probably queer our friendship -no pun intended- but I had to say it, because I've never felt this before, and I like who I am because of it. And if bringing it to light means we can't be friends then I will regret that until the end of my days. But I had to say it. And that is why I've stopped you coming here. I almost said it a few days ago. That is the thing I've always meant to say. And now I have said it. And should you want to ignore it and continue our relationship as it is then I'll accept it. Because this is an enormous change and though I believe you may have considered this before you seem to have decided that it wasn't something to pursue. And I can understand why. Everything will change after this and it will be easier to simply ignore it. But, John, I know some part of you is hesitating, and if there is a moment of hesitation, that means you feel something too. All I ask is that you not dismiss that -at least for ten seconds- and try to dwell in it. John Hamish Watson, there isn't another soul on this planet who's ever made me half the person I am when I'm with you, and I would risk this friendship for the chance to take it to the next plateau. Because there is love between you and me. It can't be denied. Everyone sees it. We may be the last to realize it but it's very present. And even if we never speak again after tonight, please know that I'm forever changed because of who you are and what you've meant to me"

John says nothing. He takes Sherlock by the arm and drags him back towards 221B. He drags Sherlock past the guards ,who are now being patched up by a medic, and up to their flat.  Sherlock says nothing. Silence again.

"Get those off, " John says and Sherlock takes off his robe and starts to take off his pyjamas. John walks toward Sherlock's room. Sherlock hears him rustling around. Opening his wardrobe then closing it. Sherlock continues disrobing. He thinks to stop at the pants but John has seen every inch of him over time. So he takes off everything. He stands there nude and confused. He thinks he should say something but he's just said everything really. John has obviously opted for ignoring the issue option. 

John walks back in and drapes the blanket from Sherlock's bed over his shoulders then pushes him to set down on the sofa.

Sherlock looks up at him. He starts shaking. He doesn't want to be shaking but his body is betraying him again. He tries eastern techniques to retain his warmth. He closes his eyes and focuses on his center. It worked one cold night in Serbia. Surely it can work in a flat in London.

It doesn't work. John sees him shaking.

Then he feels arms wrapped around him. He is maneuvered in a one-sided hug from John. His head is draped over John's shoulders. And John is sliding his hands up and down his back. Warming him. It feels lovely. And Sherlock decides that it's okay that they're going to ignore it. If John is still here as his friend then that will be enough.

He breaths slowly. And takes in the silence. His silence. John's silence.

Then John clears his throat. Sherlock's eyes  pop open.

No more silence.

"That was so unfair. You know how unfair that was."

Sherlock tries to pull back and speak. John doesn't let him move. Holds him tighter.

"I do," he says. He does know. And yet he doesn't regret it.

"You left, Sherlock. You left. And you never...not until.... Before you left it wasn't th-" John sighs. "Do you remember when we were in the lab all night. And at one point we fell asleep next to each other?"

"Yes."

"It was such a ridiculous situation. We were on the run from the police. Moriarty had turned everyone against you. We had just watched a man die. And we went to the lab at Bart's to hide out.  And , of course, we eventually fell asleep next to each other. As I fell asleep that night I thought I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world except by your side. But then you left, Sherlock. And you're right. God , of course, you're right. I've felt it. I've known. Hell if I didn't know before then I knew when you proposed to Janine and my first thought was that I've lost you again. For a second it felt like that day at Bart's except....somehow worse. Don't ask me to explain that."

Then John is quiet. And Sherlock isn't sure if he's done. He isn't sure what John was trying to say. He tries to parse the meaning from the words. He imagines 42 floating question marks in the air. None of them turn into information about the words John just said. He doesn't want to ask. But he's tired of silence so he does.

"What does that mean?" he asks. Direct. Simple.

John laughs. Sherlock feels the laughter in his chest. And that closeness is inexplicably perfect.

"It means I love you too. And I don't know what to do."

"Come home," Sherlock says.

"I will. Soon."

And Sherlock tries to pull away again and this time John lets him pull back just a little. Then John's arms moves from Sherlock's back to his head and holds him there. John tilts his head just so as he brings their mouths together. It is not precise or messy. It is ,however ,perfect. The kiss deepens quickly. Sherlock's mouth opening for John and John takes full advantage. Exploring and kissing Sherlock possessively. Sherlock is so happy to be possessed. He wants to give John everything. Then John pulls back and leans his forehead on Sherlock's.

"Between that and your best man speech. I'm starting to think you missed your calling. You could've been a great orator."

"Perhaps.Though I think the subject matter helps--professing love for John Watson."

John chuckles.

Sherlock smiles.

"I should go," John says and lets go. Sherlock misses the warmth immediately. "Go put on some dry clothes. Don't get sick just so you can't help me move my things back in. That's not a valid excuse."

"Is protecting the whole of England from Moriarty enough to get me out of it then?"

John seems to consider it then says, "No."

He walks to the door then comes back, bends down, and tilts Sherlock's head back for a kiss. His hands move underneath the blanket to Sherlock's thigh. Sherlock moans slightly and John pulls back with a groan of frustration..

"I HAVE to go."

"Then go," Sherlock says and opens his legs ever so slightly yet noticeably. He smirks.

"You're a menace."

John steps away and takes a long look at Sherlock then leaves.


End file.
